


The untold pledge

by Vanwatano



Series: Antonyms [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 12:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12530948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanwatano/pseuds/Vanwatano
Summary: Deep into Curufin's memories...





	The untold pledge

**Author's Note:**

> ...and curvo would probably remember it after [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11377341/chapters/27474633).

He could not prevent the reminiscence of this day.

You know that day. The day he became a father. The day his wife, exhausted but radiant, put this small frame into his arms. The day he looked upon his most beautiful creation for the first time.

And a few hours later, when he was alone with this precious little creature, his wife asleep. When his father stepped into the room…. Oh, Curufinwë was so ecstatic, so intensely enthusiastic and agitated at the same time. Eager to show his son to the world, and yet oddly apprehensive. Fëanáro… His own father… What would he think about his new treasure?

And this moment, when Fëanáro laid his eyes upon the infant, when he spontaneously called him “my grandson”. Curufinwë could not have asked for more.

**Ecstasy**.

“He is beautiful, father, is he not?”

“Beautiful? Curufinwë, my child, I know you can find more specific and accurate words to describe such a wonderful being…”

Curufinwë giggled. For the very first time in his life, he giggled, fool as he was, exultant, his heart fizzing with a nervous euphoria. 

He had never been so impressed. Impressed by his son, impressed by his father. Receiving a recognition he did not know he craved.

“You can be proud of your wife, Curufinwë. And of yourself. Your son is a blessing, a marvel to look upon,”

Pride and satisfaction made him bold enough to continue. “Father…”

But Fëanáro was not listening. amazed by the sight of this tiny being whom he did not hesitate to hold tightly, lovingly.

Curufinwë lost his words.

Fëanáro was smiling. Curufinwë was smiling. And the new-born was falling asleep. In his grandfather’s arms.

On this day, for the first time, Curufinwë eventually dared interrupt his father’s contemplation: “….Do you think I will be good enough to him?” His father’s previous compliment had made him prouder, but his heart was still wrapped with doubts.

“Good to him?” whispered Fëanáro, and with a few slow and expert movements, he placed the new-born between Curufinwë’s arms. “Have I not been good to you, Curufinwë?”

Fëanáro was smiling. Curufinwë answered with the same smile, despite his awkwardness. “No one, save mother, has ever been better to me.”

“Then you shall not fail your son.” Fëanáro’s voice was solemn. “You will be a good father, Curufinwë.”

His own uncertainty crumbled. Sheer bliss returned. He could not stop smiling. He could not pretend. He was true to himself, to his own feelings. Through this elation, he pledged himself to always be true to his son, undisguised and artless. Pretense would never stand between them. He would have sworn it as he stared into the infant’s face.

So fragile. So small. So pure.

He had to live up to this perfection.


End file.
